


i won’t deny i’ve got in my mind all the things we could do (imagine being loved by me)

by proserpinasacra



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Age Difference, Choking Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Inappropriate use of a police issue walkie talkie, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Power Dynamics, Voice Kink, but no actual choking, violent dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proserpinasacra/pseuds/proserpinasacra
Summary: “I dreamt about you, Jacob.”“That so.”“I had my hands around your neck. My nails dug little crescents into your skin.”“Try again when you feel like giving up information on the Whitetails. Don’t need a special call to know you wanna kill me, wildcat.”“Wasn’t killing you.”(gracie gives jacob a late night radio call)





	i won’t deny i’ve got in my mind all the things we could do (imagine being loved by me)

“I dreamt about you, Jacob.” _Her_ voice rang soft but insistent over the fuzzy radio; the wildcat Deputy with a death wish contacting him at odd times of night was a new but not unwelcome occurrence. Her tone straddled the line just this side of plausible deniability from threatening, and Jacob could picture her expression from that sentence alone: dark eyebrows pulled together, darker eyes narrowed and reeling in everything around her while still hooked on his own, full lips twisted halfway to a sneer. He set aside the recruitment logs he had been reading, picked his own radio up with his left hand, and grazed his right against the 1911 at his thigh. Couldn’t ever trust her. Couldn’t trust this wasn’t a diversion. He pressed the button, brought the receiver to his mouth.

“That so.” Jacob offered, curious despite the caution.

“I had my hands around your neck. My nails dug little crescents into your skin.”

He paused at the image, a sudden fleeting thought of her above him, that intent expression on her face and her strong, slight hands cold on his skin. He pressed the button to reply. “Try again when you feel like giving up information on the Whitetails. Don’t need a special call to know you wanna kill me, wildcat.”

“Wasn’t killing you.”

Jacob paused. His blood shot warm as the thought returned, resolving again with her above him, sharp face twisted with a different kind of intensity. That couldn’t, couldn’t be what she meant. He grit his teeth, kept his voice even when he replied. “Then what, Deputy, was the occasion.”

“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

“I think I wanna hear you say it.”

“Really, really?” He could hear the slight, taunting smile in her voice. The one that always dared him to keep pushing and pressing as she did the very same.

“Don’t make me ask again.” There’s a light giggle, then a single steady inhale, like she was preparing to launch herself into a fight.

“I woke up just now aching.” He wanted to growl in frustration at the vague non-answer, but her words and complete shift in tone caught him. His chest constricted as anticipation roiled through him. Her next transmission seemed to take an eternity, but the breathy softness of it enraptured him. “I can still feel the ghost of where you touched me. Your hands squeezing my hips, the feeling of you between my thighs…”

He stilled entirely, breath stopping a moment with his finger poised over the button on the radio. His head swam with the image she painted. All the tense muscles of her coiled above him, flexing and stretching under golden skin shiny with sweat, face twisted in rapturous pleasure as she worked herself on him, fingers fixed upon his throat. He didn’t mind it one bit. Didn’t trust her one bit either. He cleared his throat before transmitting again. “What game are you playing, wildcat?”

“No game.” Her response came the moment the airwaves cleared. The breathiness of her voice shifted seamlessly to her hard insistence, in the exact tone she used when threatening violence. Deadly serious. In control. “Not that kind, not now.”

Jacob believed her. The Deputy was many things, but always blunt and straightforward when speaking with that fervent intensity of hers. “Are you alone?”

“Only me here.” He knew she had resistance friends. He wondered absently why she always seemed to be alone, but couldn’t be fucked to bother any further with the thought now.

“Only you.” He echoed, flickers of heated anticipation skittering along his skin. His hand left the grip of the 1911. “Private channel, too. Unless one of my siblings gets in range. Talk.”

“Ask nicely.”

“ _Nicely_. You’re lucky I haven’t sent my hunters for you after your last stunt.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t snapped your neck. I’ve fought men your size. I could put you on the floor.”

He scoffed. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Oh, you’d like that.”

“You’d like it too.”

“Think I wouldn’t give as good as I got?”

“Tell me.” She breathed. He wanted to feel that on his skin. He wanted to touch her free of the ever-present tension she carried, make her pliable and wanting.

“You brought the discussion to the table. Tell me about your dream, honey.”

~*~*~

The low rasp of Jacob’s voice scratched over her skin, igniting every nerve with a buzzing energy along the way. She squirmed with the need to move, to run, to fight, to fuck, anything to burn off what he incited in her. Even in her fucking dreams the imagined sound of his voice set her off, and she’d awoken with a jarring and horrible need to hear him in reality. She knew the frequency they used to taunt her by heart now, though she probably should have wondered if it was private. Jacob’s statement seemed to imply it was only used by the family, a harrowing thought, but half-comforting now. Her initial greeting hadn’t been planned, bare and aching in its honesty, but it had kept him on the line. And now he’d turned it back to her.

Gracie took a steadying breath. The ambient air of the room chilled her dry lips. She was curled up on her side in a sleeping bag arranged haphazardly on a creaking bed in a musty abandoned cabin, just enough wall and blankets around her to keep the night chill of the mountains out. She retreated further in the bundle, walkie positioned by her mouth with her left hand, the right tangled lower in her blankets by the tight press of her thighs. “I dreamt… we were fighting, grappling, and you pressed me against the wall and you smiled at me. A real one, not the—“

That strayed too close, didn’t it? Of course she’d noticed the difference between the leering threat of a smile and the one where a genuine amusement made his eyes crinkle at the corners. But this was more manageable if it was just about the sex, about their bodies. They each used those for unjustifiable purposes every day. “You pressed me against the wall and I _wanted_. I threw you off and turned around to face you, grabbed you…”

They’d kissed. All desperate warmth and the clash of teeth, biting and pressing closer and closer. His hands were everywhere on her, rough as he pulled her so tight to him she could hardly breathe, and her nails dug into the marred skin of his shoulders. Everything had been his mouth on her, hot and roaming from lips to neck to collar. She shivered. She wasn’t sure she should share that part. She wasn’t very eloquent. It felt all stilted, words dying on her lips without the right amount of heat. Apparently enough time passed with her finger off the radio for him to need to comment.

“Oh, wildcat, you’re treading on dangerous ground.”

As if she didn’t fucking know. Her eyebrows pulled together, and she rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see. “When am I not?”

“There she is.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Is that where this is leading?”

She opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, but didn’t press the button, didn’t speak.

“I’m not holding you here.” He said, eventually, voice a rumble down her spine even through the tinniness of her police-issue handheld. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

“We kissed. I shoved you onto the bed. Everything was all heat and trying to get closer.”

“You got me underneath you. I think I’d like that view, wildcat.”

“I did. And you grinned as you rocked up against me. Not even naked yet, just grinding all desperate like teenagers. I kept my hands on your throat. To hold you down. Control you.” The heat found its way back to her in shivers, a tingle coursing over her skin and warmth rolling in her gut.

“That what you want? Me underneath you for you to have your way with?” She could hear the leering smile in his voice. He knew her better than that. He knew her well enough to call her on it with confidence.

“No. I want— you. Being you. You’ll fight me on it. Keep me on my toes.” She wet her lower lip, picturing the grappling and twisting and the press of his body to hers. Only half a fight and only half serious, but all intensity and heat anyway. “Wanna straddle you and have you by the throat as much as I want you to flip us and hold me down.”

“Wouldn’t mind you squirming underneath me as you take my cock. Wouldn’t mind watching your tits and the look on your face as you fucked yourself on me either. I’d give you what you want, wildcat.”

A helpless moan left her at the growl in his words, at the images they conjured up and the accompanying rush of heat to her core. A flush rose to her cheeks, too, and she pressed her face against the cool pillow to try and ignore it.

When she’d first woken up with the desperate aching, she’d bunched one of the few blankets shoved into her sleeping bag between her thighs, and rocked thoughtlessly for the simple relief of pressure. Now it wasn’t enough. Nothing here would be enough, now, not until she felt him. Her free hand slipped into her shirt, pressing flat against her stomach before trailing slowly lower, feeling the hidden definition of abs, raised slashes of old scars, and warm, warm skin. She didn’t know, couldn’t, shouldn’t-

“Are you touching yourself?” The question felt so quiet and intimate, her voice softly piercing the miles between them. Everything around her seemed to still and tighten as she waited for his response. She’d pushed the line while he encouraged her. It would hardly be any further overstepping if nothing thus far had been, but the confirmation mattered.

“You first, honey. Tell me how wet you are.” His fucking voice wrecked her, all low and breathy and growling, and she wanted nothing more than the intensity of his pale eyes pinning her down to accompany the sound of if. Despite herself, she obeyed, trailing fingers lower to part lips and sink her middle finger into herself with laughable ease. Her back arched, a shiver running through her and she whimpered, before remembering the damn button on the radio.

“Enough for you to press your fingers into.” Rough and calloused, but dexterous, they had to be. Marksman’s hands. A hunter’s. She pulled back out, tracing a sodden fingertip delicately around her clit while remembering every glimpse and brush of his hands. “Are you hard? For me?”

“Just for you, honey.”

“Touch yourself. Go slow.”

“Ain’t eager for this to be over. Wanna hear more of this dream of yours.”

Her head swam with the power she had over him right now. The power she ceded. The delicate balance of them navigating dangerous territory together. She pressed two fingers back into herself, slowly with legs shifting in the slippery nylon. “You were holding my hips hard enough it hurt. I wanted it to.”

“You want me to hurt you, baby girl? Give it to you rough? I can. I could fuck you so hard into the mattress you’d forget your name.”

She almost called him out on the new nickname, since that was not in a million years or the fires of hell something she’d allow outside of a situation like this, but as it was— fuck. Another bit back moan, and she pulled her fingers out to press hard against her clit, hips rocking a gentle circle. Shocks of arousal coursed over her skin; the contrasting sensations of cold outside air clashing against the heat gathering within her sleeping bag, and sore flesh against slippery nylon made everything that much more sharply intense. “Yes. I wanna hurt you back. Fight you, fuck you, feel you.”

“Tell me how you want it.” He breathed into the radio, and she wondered exactly where he was. Sat somewhere with his thick thighs spread and pants only partially undone, holding himself in a spit-slicked hand? A hazy wave of desire shot through her, unable to stop further imaginings. She wanted to be on those thighs, crushed in those arms, yanking his head back with a harsh hold on that red hair. He could take it; he could take her.

“No hitting.” They could both do too much real damage that way, not that they’d ever actually fought each other directly. But he’d seen what she did to his Peggies with just her fists, and the strength he carried was unignorable. “Grappling, hands on throats, pinned down, I’d let you pull my hair. I wanna ride you, feel you deep inside me, fast and hard then slow down when you’re close just to tease you and feel how tight you hold me when you’re impatient.”

“I’ll watch you take your pleasure from me, see your face twist as you bounce on my cock. I’ll feel every inch of your skin, then when you’ve had your fill and you’re all sensitive and trembling, I’ll flip you on your back and wrap your legs around me so you can hold on as I fuck you till you’re screaming.” He took his time with his words; his slow drawl seeped through her like honey, overtaking her senses and drowning her in the intensity of him.

Her toes curled as her hips stuttered in their slow rock, but she couldn’t help a comment. “I’m flexible.” She supplied, breathy laugh accented with a moan and the slick sound of her fingers in her cunt.

He laughed back, a low rumble that pulsed in her very veins, and she thought she caught a waver in his taunting voice. “Toss your ankles over my shoulders then, bend you in half fucking you so you can take my cock as deep as possible.”

Gracie bit her lip to stop another embarrassing sound at the thought, not that it mattered with him miles away and connected only by ephemeral airwaves. She added a third finger even knowing the stretch couldn’t compare to what she imagined.

“What else would you do to me? If you could, anything.” She risked, casting a line into the abyss to gain a whisper of any of the million calculating thoughts playing through Jacob’s head.

He didn’t respond, for a moment then half a minute, and a strange anger built low in her chest, a corresponding heat to that in her core. She didn’t like being ignored. They were in this thoughtless endeavor together now, he couldn’t just leave her hanging with no feedback. As she gathered up steam to berate him, glaring at her walkie, she realized a crucial element— and relaxed her death grip on it so she no longer inadvertently hit the transmit button.

“- just to shut you up.”

“I didn’t catch that. Radio fritzed.”

He scoffed, but she could imagine a smile tugging at his lips despite it. “You’re fucking serious.”

“This is-“ She gasped, and squirmed to turn more onto her stomach, triggering the distinctive slipping sound of skin on nylon. “The worst possible medium for this.”

“Telegram.” Came his clipped response, and she _cackled_ , bursting into uncontrollable giggles, fingers still buried deep within herself. She pressed the button briefly so he could hear the hiccuping end of her laughter as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Said I’d have you kneeling first. You’d look real pretty with your lips around my cock. And you wouldn’t be able to get mouthy.”

Canting her hips, she dug her knees into the creaky mattress so she could rock onto her hand, fucking onto her three fingers as her palm rocked against her clit. She imagined the weight of him on her tongue and filling her mouth, out of breath and choking on it, imagined seeing the result of her every action on his face, imagined torturing him with the wanting of it. He was so towering, so intense, so strong, she couldn’t help but crave seeing all that broken with need for her. “Mm. I think you’d miss my voice. It’s got you this far, after all. But I— could like that. Get all wet hearing how you moan for me. See your face as I hum around you, take you deep into my mouth and suck. _God_. Would I get a reward for being nice and not biting?”

“I’d treat you nicely. Settle between your thighs to take you apart with my tongue.”

“You’d hook my legs over your shoulders. Do you trust me not to choke you out with my thighs? I could twist and snap your neck if I wanted.”

“You wouldn’t want that, wildcat. But I’d hold your hips down, so no matter how much you buck and squirm I could keep tasting you. I wouldn’t let you finish until you’re crying and begging for it. Then I’d do it all over again. Wanna see you as a shaking mess.”

She imagined the way his beard would scrape against her skin, how it would almost hurt as he kept her suspended on the cusp, screaming and writhing for him to finish her off. “I want you to bruise me.”

“Wouldn’t just bruise you. I’d mark you all over. Let everyone know you belong to me. Let them see the untouchable Deputy got fucked good by her sworn enemy.”

Her mind stuttered out for a sharp moment, reeling in a frantic compilation of the pictures they’d painted and exacerbated by the growl of his voice, his fucking voice. She pressed her thighs together, trapping fingers inside for short, desperately shallow thrusts to better feel the grind of her palm against her mound, knees digging into the hard mattress and sleeping bag slippery around her. Her breath came short too, face flushed as she panted with it, arcs of arousal coursing through her body and her hand beneath her soaking.

Gracie had, completely and utterly, lost control of the situation.

Out of control was decidedly her least favorite place to be.

She didn’t exactly want him for his body. Not that she saw any of it as a negative, not the thick thighs and wide shoulders or the rasping voice or the brutal, burning intensity of him and those frozen eyes. She didn’t even prioritize the physical sensations he could give her. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy a real life manifestation of everything they’d said. What she wanted, obsessively, was the thrill that grappling with him sent down her spine, the heady and intoxicating rush of adrenaline he sent to her head. He spun her around and around and she wanted nothing more than to grab him as tight as possible and show him exactly what they were both made of. She wanted to reach inside him, feel his heart and his blood and his whole fucking soul in her grip.

Meanwhile, her hand worked frantic between her legs. Her thighs trembled as she rocked her hips in stuttering thrusts to the slick sound of fingers penetrating and withdrawing, so terribly close despite it being a cold and lonely sham of what she needed. Her skin felt tight and heated and electric all at once, the scrape of her cotton shirt against her nipples too much and the slip of her sleeping bag not enough when it could be skin against her instead. Him, him, he could cover her entirely and she’d feel nothing but him; she could rage and scream and channel all her aggression at him and he’d withstand and hold her, contain her, and throw back his own blisteringly cold power in a blissful loop. She could play the unstoppable force and he’d be her immovable object, and they could crash into each other over and over.

“You close, honey? You’re being awful quiet.” His voice, if breathy at the best of times, was ragged and wrecked now, and the sound of it knocked something inside her to spiraling.

“Yes, Jacob, fuck, I—“ She curved her fingers inside her and bit her lip hard for the sharpness of it, wishing she had her left hand free. The solid, cheap plastic of the radio clutched in it was the only thing grounding her, and her only tether to the source of her frustration. He spoke again at her silence.

“Tell me what you need, wildcat.”

~*~*~

“I want— I wanna fucking destroy you. I wanna feel every bit of you, fuck, I wanna take you apart.”

Jacob groaned, fist tightening around himself not only at the further intonation of violence, but the confirmation of the fascinating things he’d glimpsed fleetingly in her dark eyes. “Oh honey, you’re more than welcome to try.”

“You’ve seen what I can do.” She said, the challenge in her voice competing with the breathless whine of it.

“It’s fucking brutal. You’re a terror. Gonna use that long hair of yours to hold you down, wrangle you where I want.”

“As long as you keep fucking me, let me scratch up your back and suck bruises on you, I won’t throw you off.” Her words came as drawn out gasps, maintaining admirable shreds of composure begging to be torn from her. He almost imagined he could hear the slick of her fingers fucking into herself through the weak signal of the radio. His hips jerked into the loose fist of his hand around his dick, calloused and cursorily slicked with spit and precum, and nowhere near as satisfying as she would be, but the only relief he could find. “Talk. Keep talking.”

Her curled up somewhere in the mountains, indoors and in a sleeping bag based on the ambient sounds, working frantically and gasping for him to speak with a hand between her legs wasn’t an unpleasant thought. But not what he wanted. He wanted her here.

He could picture her bent over the desk in front of him, long dark hair spilled over the curve of her back; he could picture pinning her there with a hand at the base of her neck and the other trapping her wrists just above the swell of her ass, just above where he buried himself into her, warm heat of her cunt opening wet for him as she writhed against the solid wood of the desk, panting his name; how he fucked her until she screamed.

He could picture her held in his arms after, pliant and smiling sleepily as she slowly drifted away into unconsciousness. How she’d look so delicate cradled there despite her body regularly being a tensed weapon of destruction. He could imagine the warmth of her skin and the curve of her cheekbones and the slant of her eyes and the parting of her lips as she fell asleep cradled against him, for once, for once not raging and fighting.

He could picture her razor sharp face in a thousand different iterations, lust and wrath, aggression and arousal, rage and tenderness, all blending together, and he wanted, he wanted, he wanted.

“You know I’d take real good care of you. You want me to wrestle you down and hold you there? You wanna try to bring me down? I think you might be able to, wildcat, I _have_ seen what you can do. Goddamn vicious, watched security videos of you fighting and all I want is to feel that against me, feel you against me and make you tremble and moan and scream with it.” His words ran away from him, all an achingly truthful stream of consciousness and rough and grasping at anything to drag her closer.

She answered only with a moan, something torn and desperate and so much softer than the rest of her, and Jacob couldn’t fucking breathe.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think, until everything is you and me and those pretty noises you’re making for me. You know you’re the only one, you’re a fucking nightmare and a dream and I’m gonna let you do anything you want to me if you let me do the same. If you let me touch you till you’re squirming and crying out for me.”

“Oh, fuck, Jacob-“ There’s an alluring neediness, an uncontrolled whine and breathlessness to her voice he’s never heard before. He could push her further. He needed to. He needed to hear that from her, to do that to her. The pace he squeezed around his dick increased, speeding with the same urgency he could hear in her voice, and morphing to short, jerking thrusts focused at the head. It was almost painful, how badly he wanted this, this strange, nebulous power over her. His mind shot out, grasping for anything to take her apart in a completely different way than he’d originally planned upon first learning she’d escaped the altercation at the church. She was different than he’d expected, things were different. But at the same time they weren’t, not really.

“Oh, Gracie, Gracie, I could destroy you right back. I’ll show you everything I’ve got and we can tear each other apart.” Her first name, a gift of quiet moments passed, forced it way out of him in an implicit claiming, an undeniable reminder of the lines they’d already crossed.

He stilled himself long enough to hear the gasping sounds of her sharp breaths stumble and pause and shift. She had the kindness to keep transmitting, so he could hear her fall apart into a gibberish of moans and keens and his own name, over and over, a sound he wanted imprinted into his damn brain, until she trailed off into soft, shaky breaths. Until the transmission cut, and he imagined her hand unclenching from the walkie, the rest of her spent and trembling, muscles loose and pliable post-orgasm. Her fingers would be sticky, escaped strands of dark hair plastered to her sweaty forehead, and her fierce eyes alight with a hazy glow.

“Let me hear you.” She whispered, sounding knocked flat and wrecked, almost pleading. For him.

That control, finally, finally, gone.

His hand started up again, desperate from her sounds and uninhibited with need. It didn’t take long, not with the echo of her voice and every imagining of her fresh in his mind. With a choked off cry, he spilled into his clenched fist, free fingers seizing spasmodically against the transmission button. The heat coursed through him in a shot, sensation dancing over his skin, over every ruined nerve and through every vein in a broken whole body shudder. His hips jerked arrhythmic up into his fist with the tensing of his muscles and the gratifying, emptying release. His body was left drained in its wake, craving to be pressed to the warmth of her. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, allowing himself a single moment.

She switched in to fucking coo at him, a soft, teasing, self-satisfied hum accompanied by a quiet laugh. Not as harsh as she could sometimes be, something that might even be called fond if they could actually stand to be in the same room without biting at each other’s throats. As it was, he categorized it as a strange eccentricity, logging the sound of it in detail to his memory all the same.

For once he didn’t bother psychoanalyzing the situation. He knew it didn’t say anything good about either of them. Then again, little did. They stayed silent for a moment, connected now only by tenuous airwaves and their mutual fascination, until once again she tuned back in with a click.

He listened as her breathing evened out far faster than it would have naturally. She was building that obsessive control again; Jacob still wanted to wrest it from her fully and catch her pinned in a moment without. The Deputy seemed to rethink whatever it was she planned on saying, and the radio went silent again without a word.

He’d heard the pretty sounds of her orgasm, and now they would haunt him along with his imaginings of her until he could experience them in person. Until he could feel her flesh and the way she trembled in reality, and not just imagine it in this sham replacement they’d fallen to. Weak, weak, weak.

On the other end of the airwaves, she was quiet. She was quiet, and she was distant, and she was an unknown number of miles and steps away. Out of reach. She seemed as some elusive fey thing, some wild animal begging for capture, the white doe taunting promises of fantasies fulfilled if only he could catch her and possess her.

“Come to St. Francis. Come to me, now.” He didn’t beg. He didn’t. The command teetered on needy, strayed an edge close to wanting. A long pause answered him. Finally, a click.

“You know I can’t.” She almost actually sounded regretful. But he didn’t think that was in her emotional lexicon. He grit his teeth, growled his response.

“I know you’ll do whatever you damn well please. And I’d make sure it’d please you.”

“You know I won’t.” Her voice came through firmer. She’d caught her breath fully and gathered that tense restraint back around herself like a shroud. His chest ached with the need to strip her of it.

“Gracie.” Her name tripped its way over his tongue again, like if he only reminded her enough of what they’d shared he could topple all her convictions.

“Goodbye, Jacob…”

“ _Gracie_.”

**Author's Note:**

> i mean it’s. it’s kind of a character study if you squint? come berate me at deputyexhausted.tumblr.com for not understanding how walkie talkies work or just to chat if you’d like(:


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